Chapter 12: The House of Dreams
Daveron stood as an immense fortress of black obsidian and living shadow, a bastion carved into the frozen cliffs of northern Fortsterling where only the strongest were deemed worthy of continued existence. Within its towering walls the God of Dreams held court, his followers, dream-weavers and illusionists, wielded powers that could twist the very fabric of reality: visions that became flesh, nightmares that devoured minds, futures glimpsed and then forcibly rewritten. The air inside the fortress thrummed with the constant murmur of dreaming aura, thick and intoxicating, as though the boundary between waking and slumber had long since eroded.
Adjacent to this realm of reverie, the worshippers of darker deities, Anubis foremost among them, gathered in fervent opposition to the encroaching tide of oblivion. They called it the "Endo Period," that prophesied era when humanity dared to ascend as gods and in doing so invited annihilation.
Temples of bone and iron stood shoulder-to-shoulder with dream spires, their priests chanting ceaselessly against the void. Yet beneath the veneer of unyielding strength, agitation simmered. The elders and commanders of both factions shared the same restless hunger: to cultivate ever more formidable prodigies, to forge weapons from living souls, and to discard without hesitation the weak, the flawed, the unworthy.
In that moment, I awoke from my dreamless slumber.
I sat quietly in the corner of a small chamber stone walls veined with faint crimson light, a single narrow window admitting pale northern sun. My body felt… different. The violent rebellion of absorbed talents had finally subsided. Albert's violet flames, Jasper's refined Mana Sight, the fragments of their clones and fire-lung techniques, they had ceased fighting me. Instead they coiled quietly within my aura heart, merging with the countless other essences I had devoured over eight long years.
I circulated my aura, slow, deliberate. Violet-black aura flowed smoothly now, no longer tearing at meridians or threatening to erupt through skin. The excess energy had been refined, compressed, claimed.
"I have successfully absorbed all the talent within me," I murmured in quiet astonishment, "making it my own."
I extended my senses outward.
The vibrant flow of life returned in full force, servants moving through distant corridors, guards stationed at every intersection, even the small, skittering pulse of insects beneath floorboards. The strange, lifeless veil that had smothered the mansion during the previous night's chaos was gone, as though a curtain had been torn away.
I turned my face toward the window. Sunlight poured in, warm against my scarred cheeks.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
The voice came before I finished the thought.
Madam Helga materialized beside me, silent as shadow, her presence filling the room like spilled ink. She wore a flowing black gown threaded with silver dream-runes that shimmered faintly in the light.
"Sometimes," she replied softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, "I truly wonder if you are blind."
I turned my face toward her, expression devoid of emotion.
"Madam Helga… when will you grant me my freedom?"
The question hung between us.
Her heart-rate quickened, I felt it through the subtle shift in her aura. She hesitated, gaze locked on my impassive features. Her hand rose, brushing cool fingertips across my cheek.
"Your freedom," she said calmly, "is not yours to decide."
Her eyes bored into the place where mine should have been.
"You belong to me."
The words carried venom, sweet, possessive, wicked. A shiver raced down my spine; cold sweat beaded along my brow. Yet my face remained stone.
"Tsk. Cold-hearted wretch," she muttered, rising fluidly. "Congratulations on reaching the finals of the battle tournament."
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Silence rushed in, thick, heavy, blessedly empty of her oppressive aura.
I exhaled slowly.
Relief washed through me like cool water.
I reached for my cane, blackwood, weighted, familiar, and stood. Senses spread outward, mapping the room in perfect clarity: door to the left, narrow corridor beyond, faint life signatures of maids patrolling the hall.
I moved with practiced stealth.
The moment I crossed the threshold, a gentle voice called out.
"Young Master."
Yunna.
She appeared at my side, green hair catching the corridor light, hazel eyes unreadable. Yet something felt wrong. Her aura carried a sharp edge, hostility, tightly leashed.
"Madam Helga instructed me to relay this message."
I focused on her aura flow, tense, coiled, ready to strike.
"The main battle tournament begins in two days. Several demon cities will converge on Daveron for the event. You have been chosen to represent our city, as several Heads of multiple demon academies will be present."
"Demon academy?" A slow smile spread across my face. Excitement stirred in my chest, sharp, hungry. "You mean… somewhere far from here?"
"Do not provoke me further," Yunna warned. Killing intent rolled off her in waves, cold, precise.
I let the smile widen.
"If you secure the number one slot… if you can catch the attention of the four prestigious demon academies… your weapon will be returned back to you."
In an instant I erupted.
Violet-black aura exploded outward, violent, unrestrained. The shockwave shoved Yunna back several paces. Her feet slid across marble before she caught herself.
"Fine!" I roared, voice echoing down the corridor. "As long as my sword is returned, I will even bring back the head of the Righteous King!"
The air turned heavy.
Blades, cold steel, appeared at my throat from every direction. Knights materialized from the shadows, weapons drawn, silver-rank qi flaring.
I raised one hand slowly, mischievous grin never fading
.
"Chill, everyone. It's just excitement."
"This blind lunatic," Yunna muttered, gaze fixed on me like I was some dangerous beast. "I cannot fathom why Madam Helga keeps this unstable creature alive."
She lifted a hand.
"Drop your blades."
The knights hesitated.
"Tell him to lower his aura first," one growled, blade still pressed against my neck.
"Fools!" Yunna snapped. "Do you think you can withstand Madam Helga's wrath?"
Instantly the blades withdrew. Steel rasped back into sheaths.
"Yunna," I said softly, "you prepared all this for me?"
She remained unfazed.
"Why shouldn't I, blind devil? You who slays Silver ranks with ease… yet has not progressed a single rank since the day you arrived." she said dusting the and from her gown
I mused feeling the life energies around me begin to dissipate, knights retreating, Yunna's aura cooling.
"Yunna," I continued coldly, tapping my cane once against the marble, "do not mistake my desire to leave this place for a lack of loyalty to Madam Helga."
The rhythmic beat of my cane echoed down the corridor as I walked away, slow, deliberate, unhurried.
Behind me, Yunna called after me, voice low and uncertain.
"I hope you are true to your words."
I did not answer.
The sound of my cane tapping faded into the shadowed halls of Daveron.